


Now What?

by any_otp_will_do



Series: United As A Broken, Fucked Up Mess. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/any_otp_will_do/pseuds/any_otp_will_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had been perfectly fine with life and all things considered, he had started to get better. Of course, that's the time when his brain had made the executive decision to kiss Derek. And now with the questions and the existential 'what the fucks' of life happen.  Rated M for future chapters.(Written with the way things were going before season 3 started up)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm going to go hang out with Scott and some friends." Stiles called to his father as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

"Hold on a second." The Sheriff replied, getting up from his chair and abandoning his paperwork. He met Stiles in the hallway and leaned against the wall. "Where are you going and who will you be with?"

"I'm going with Scott and his drug dealer to drive recklessly around a canyon." Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes at his dad's concern.

His dad crossed his arms and huffed. "Stiles."

"I'm just going to hang out with Scott and Boyd at one of our friend's houses." Stiles eluded.

The Sheriff was not impressed or convinced. He raised his eyebrow. "Are you going to hang out with them at the Hale house?"

Stiles sighed and nodded. It was weird hearing his dad call it the "Hale house." It was really only the townspeople who called it that. Considering only  _one Hale_  lived there now, the title was a bit outdated. Everyone who lived or went there anymore called it the Pack house. Because that's what it was.

"Fine." His dad allowed. Stiles started for the door once again before the Sheriff stopped him. "Don't stay out too late."

"I won't." Stiles threw over his shoulder as he jogged down the path to his car. He got in the Jeep and drove the now familiar route to the Pack house. He loved driving this way. Not just because he was happy to hang out with the Pack, but the woods were beautiful to drive through. He loved rolling down the window and breathing in the fresh smell of the forest.

Not that he would ever tell anyone.

He pulled into the clearing and parked by the myriad of other vehicles there. Derek's black Camaro, Mrs. McCall's car (borrowed by her son), Boyd's silver and red motorcycle, and Jackson's Porsche were lined up outside the old house.

Which was looking good, by the way. Derek had insisted the Pack help out with renovations for their training. It was strength building, he maintained. No one really believed that was the reason, but no one complained because they knew why he wanted help.

Who would want to rebuild the house your entire family died in all by yourself?

Stiles had helped too, despite the reassurances that he didn't need to. He had decided early on that the squishy humans shouldn't be moving entire pieces of furniture or ripping up floorboards. So together, he, Allison, and Lydia worked on the more doable tasks like painting, drilling, and supervising. Or rather, he and Allison did while Lydia planned and dominated as usual.

Stiles had tried to convince her to put some secret passage ways and sliding bookshelves into the blueprints, but she shook her head and told him, smiling sadistically the whole time, to ask Derek first.  _Manipulative woman._ Stiles knew right away that she wasn't doing it because she wanted to follow rules; she was pushing Stiles at Derek. Like everyone else.

The entire Pack had been bothering them about their relationship for a while. And by a while, Stiles meant ever since their relationship changed. That night when Derek had held him through a panic attack had changed them. Noticeably. And everyone else was incredibly annoying about it.

There was no discrete groping or secretive make-out sessions—and Stiles did not want that,  _he did not_ —the change was something nobody else understood. Or tried to understand. They always complained about Stiles smelling like Derek, or vice versa, but that was for no reason other than the nightmares.

Derek still had nightmares and Stiles still had panic attacks. It was easier for Derek now that the house no longer resembled the burned out shell it once did and his new Pack was sleeping there with him. And it was easier for Stiles now that he had Derek. Whenever Derek was plagued with a nightmare or haunting memories, he would run to Stiles's house and they would talk or just sit together. And Derek could hear Stiles's panic attacks from miles away, and would find him wherever he was.

They had become a real team. Two broken and fucked up people working together to remain sane. It was kind of poetic.

Stiles's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his window. He jumped slightly and turned to face the bronze hair and bright smile that was Isaac Lahey.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, peering at Stiles with a strange look on his face.

"Yeah," Stiles's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Isaac laughed softly, "Well… you've been sitting out here with the engine running for about five minutes. I don't think you even moved."

"Oh. Right. I was just thinking."

"Hey, it's your business. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Great. I'm going to hang out with Erica. I'll see you around."

Stiles cut the engine as he watched Isaac take off into the trees. He was a good kid. Stiles was glad Isaac and Erica were together. They made each other happy, that was plain.

Walking up the stairs into the Pack house was always a strange experience for Stiles. He expected it would be so for a while. He still wasn't used to coming to this house with it nice and clean, at a time when no one was in danger. Granted, it was a nice change of pace.

Derek met him downstairs with a panicked expression. "Stiles? What's wrong?"

"Uhh, nothing?" Stiles queried. Apparently Derek wasn't used to the change either. "Unless there's something I don't know about, yet. I just came over to hang out."

"Oh." Was all he said. They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Neither one of them had quite worked out their relationship standing, so neither was sure how to act around the other.

Stiles cleared his throat. "Uhm, so, is Scott here?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He said as he let Stiles in. "He's downstairs with Allison. They seem to be having a serious conversation." He made air quotes around "serious."

Stiles nodded with understanding. Allison and Scott had been "broken up" for close to a month now. After two weeks of not talking to each other, they had started to make conversation. They seemed to be rebuilding their relationship little by little. Scott was thrilled, of course, but Derek was uneasy about how often she was over. He had forgiven her (kind of) but he had a hard time getting over the fact that she was Kate's niece.

"She's trying." Sties said quietly.

Derek sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand. "I know. It's just… old habits and what not." Stiles nodded sympathetically. "She even… kind of smells like her."

Stiles mulled that over. Interesting, seeing as they weren't that closely related. He made a mental note to look up scent patterns in families and decided to ask Scott what kind of perfume Allison wears.

"Who else is here?" Stiles queried.

"Boyd left a while ago to go geocaching or something. Didn't take his bike. I expect Jackson and Lydia are making out somewhere in the woods."

"Yeah right. Lydia's a classy bitch. She wouldn't go for a groping in the trees. She probably took Jackson somewhere else. Her car isn't around, in any case."

There was a slightly awkward pause as Derek tried to figure out how to respond to that."

"Uh, have you eaten? I was just making lunch." Stiles followed Derek into the kitchen. He had laid out a sandwich buffet line, the whole counter was covered in cheese and meats and condiments and bread. At the very end, there were a few bags of chips.

"Damn, it's like Subway in here." Stiles commented.

Derek rolled his eyes. "I like to know my options."

"That shouldn't be hard." Stiles put his keys down and sat down in a chair. Every once in a while, he would filch a few chips from Derek's plate. He took it as a good sign that Derek hadn't glared yet.

They were soon in a conversation about zombies and which movies were the best. Stiles was a sucker for all zombie movies, not caring about the origin, simply enjoying the plot and the blood and guts. Derek insisted that zombies would never have super powers or speed, but they would be really hard to kill.

"That's the problem with so many of these modern zombie things. A zombie is an animated corpse, nothing more. They can't move too fast because they don't have the motor control. Besides, they'd fall apart."

"Okay, so: you're in a zombie apocalypse. What weapons do you keep on you?"

"Machete, shotgun, two handguns. Simple, effective, and easy to carry around. You?"

"Machete, obviously, it's a classic. Some kind of good gun, a Winchester rifle or something, and a chainsaw, if I can find one."

"A chainsaw, really?" Derek groaned. He moved to put his plate in the sink. "Do you know how inefficient that would be?"

"What's wrong with chainsaws?"

"They're loud, they're heavy, they need a constant fuel resource, they require strength to be wielded, and they're awkward enough that you are just as likely to cut your own arm off as the head of the zombie you're trying to kill."

Stiles gaped at him. That was kind of… hot.

_No, no it wasn't. Where did that come from? Shut up, Stiles._

"You need some serious education. Follow me."

Stiles nearly toppled his chair over in his haste to follow Derek. He bounded after him, curious as to what he was going to show him.

Derek led him into a room that was furnished with dusky wood and forest green colors. As his eyes traced over the dark color scheme, he realized that he must be in Derek's room.

_Holy shit, he's in Derek's room._

Derek was scanning one of several shelves in his room, and Stiles simply stared at the huge bookshelves that lined three of his walls. If brains could get erections, he would have one right now, because god damn! There were more books in here than he has seen anywhere but in a library. He read the titles of a few near him.  _Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Hobbit, To Kill A Mockingiord, Gone with the Wind, Great Gatsby, Skin (short stories by Roald Dahl), and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._ He even had the Lord of The Rings Trilogy and the Harry Potter series

"I think I just had a nerd-gasm." Stiles said weakly.

Derek snorted and pulled a book from one of his shelves. "Here, educate yourself." He tossed it at Stiles.

Stiles settled on Derek's bed and read the cover:  _The Zombie Survival Guide; Complete Protection from the Living Dead, by Max Brooks._ He flipped through the first few pages, mesmerized with the detail and information. His mouth slackened.

"I think that's your look of the day." Derek teased. He plucked another book from the shelf and sat next to Stiles. "Read this one too. It was just published a while ago, it's fantastic. T. Michael Martin really knows what he's doing."

Stiles took the book from Derek and read the title.  _The End Games._  The cover art sent a tingle down his spine. Way creepy and way awesome.

Derek started talking about his favorite zombie books and about how books are so much better than movies because there's a lot more detail and a lot more explanation. But sometimes, they have better mysteries too. Words just convey it so much better because you get to make up how everything looks. You give it your own casting.

Stiles was just overwhelmed by Derek's talking. He was talking so much, which never happened, but he seemed so passionate that Stiles leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Which ended all conversation.

_Shit, why did I do that?_ _**Derek just looked so delectable.** _ _No, shut up brain, I don't need thoughts like that. Why haven't I moved my face? We're still touching faces…. Fuck, now what!_ _**Now you pull away.** _ _Okay, I can do that._

Stiles pulled back sheepishly, the burn of embarrassment spreading across his face and down to his toes. He could feel the brush staining his pale skin red.

He looked at Derek, who looked stunned. Not angry, thank everything that exists ever. Actually, he wasn't showing any expression at all. After a few minutes, Stiles began to worry.

_Awh crap, I broke him._

Not sure what to do, he waved his hand in front of Derek's face and called his name. "Derek. Derek, are you having a seizure? There are kinds where the person just stares or something. I remember it from health class." Silence. Nothing. Nada. "You're starting to freak me out here… I think I may have killed you."

Derek thawed a little bit, his eyes going in to focus, only to stare at Stiles. Who was blatantly uncomfortable. Only one word passed Derek's lips.

"…what?"

He looked so utterly confused that Stiles just thought he'd leave him to it. Honestly, he was fucking distracted and freaked out as well. He got up and left the room quietly, glad that no one else was in the house, except for the Scott and Allison, who would not be paying attention. Stiles made his way down stairs, thinking about kissing and his sexuality and  _why_.

He sat on the couch for about half an hour, having an existential crisis that he didn't care to admit to having. He mulled over many aspects of  _what even_  before he settled on _I don't even fucking know._

He went to the kitchen to grab his keys and Boyd walked in.

"Hey, man." Boyd called. Stiles instantly latched onto the conversation with him in order to escape his own mind. They struck up an obscure topic and Stiles went with it, willing to talk about just about anything. He'd take dirty socks if it meant he would stop thinking about what he had done.

He just hoped Derek wouldn't come down the stairs and make good on his many threats of evisceration and throat ripping.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles found himself in an odd conversation including geocaching, werewolf senses, and walking sticks. Boyd was telling him some story about the events of his day, which Stiles was listening to raptly.

Okay, he wasn't really paying attention.

At all.

Stiles was pretty sure a snake and a hillside was involved. Maybe some screaming as well. He wasn't completely certain.

It wasn't his fault. He was having a premature life crisis due to the fact that he attacked Derek's face with his lips. Anyone would be freaked out by that. Anyone with any concern for their body to remain intact.

So Stiles forced himself into conversation with the next person he had contact with. Who happened to be Boyd. And although Boyd was a pretty nice guy, his story about almost picking up a snake wasn't catching his attention at the moment.

Again, not his fault. Stiles was still distracted by Derek. Derek who had a room full of books. Good books. And then he had talked. To Stiles. About said books. Passionately.

If that wasn't a reasonable explanation for being distracted and disoriented and making unadvisable decisions like kissing his face, then he didn't know what was.

Boyd was getting up and walking towards him. Stiles blinked and tried to catch up with the conversation, hoping that the big guy wasn't going to punch him in the face. He flinched a little, then noticed that he was going for a box of poptarts, not his jaw. Letting out a tiny sigh, he relaxed a little bit.

Stiles tried to fill the silence as Boyd threw away the cellophane wrapper and sat at the counter/breakfast bar. His irritating babble didn't go on for too long, however, because the door opened and the golden twins walked in.

Although, now that he thought about it, Isaac had tawny hair, not blond, so that didn't really work.

"Hey mom." They said together, creepily in union. Creepy ass werewolves with their sass and stupid—

"Hey guys, where have you been?" Stiles quipped. "Did you want dinner? What about your laundry, do you need me to do that for you?"

"No, laundry's done. We've been at my house." Erica sassed him right back. "No dinner either, I cooked." She smiled smugly at Boyd's dense expression. He had paused with half a poptart between his teeth.

"Wait, you can cook?" He asked, looking rather comical as he blinked slowly.

"Damn straight." Isaac affirmed as Scott and Allison joined them. As usual, Scott was hungry.

"I heard someone mention food." He looked around expectantly.

Erica held up a huge container and sloshed it around. "Don't drool on the floor, Scott."

"Is it up for grabs?" He asked eagerly.

"You can have some, if you want." Erica rolled her eyes. "But you're sharing with everyone else."

Scott pouted, but bowls were passed around and soon everyone was eating in general quiet. Stiles looked around happily at the rest of the group. They fit in really well at the new place. Boyd was still sitting at the far end of the breakfast bar, joined by Scott and Allison. Erica and Isaac were holding hands and talking to each other softly as they leaned against the cupboards. Stiles was sitting by the bowls on a stool at another counter, but he didn't feel far away from out or outcast.

He was finally starting to feel a little more at ease when Derek walked in. Stiles accidentally caught his eyes and then forgot how to look away. Derek looked like he was trying to decipher a hidden code or some shit, going by the way he stared mercilessly right back. Stiles was embarrassed as he thought about what he did earlier that day. He wondered if Derek was thinking about it too.

Boyd broke the silence with a huff and a groan. "Get some food or get a room, Jesus."

Everyone laughed, except for Stiles, who rolled his eyes and hoped he wasn't blushing, and Derek who sighed and slumped into another stool at the counter. Stiles threw him a bowl, half hoping it would hit Boyd in the head, but Boyd ducked and Derek caught it, dishing up some food for himself.

Somehow, Isaac got them all talking about something. Stiles wasn't sure what the topic was, he didn't really care.

_Wow, I am not doing well with the listening or caring today._

Stiles was just watching them all interact. They were all so comfortable with each other. They talked and laughed like family, but without the usual  _I see and hang out with my family too much but I have to love them because of blood and biology and whatever_  tension that many families had.

Derek was actually smiling. A good, real smile with teeth and eye crinkles and no smugness or forced anything. His eyes lit up and he laughed and his dimples peeked out.

_Goddamn. What is with all of these goddamn wolves with their perfect goddamn looks and dimples and shit?_

Stiles's own smile slowly creeped off his face and his hands rubbed down his thighs. It had been a few weeks since he had thrown out all his blades and stopped cutting for good. He wouldn't lie, he still had urges, but Derek after had caught him one night and helped him through, he swore to stop. He could feel his old cuts and scars through his jeans, felt how sensitive his thighs were from the six years of abuse he had wreaked on them.

He also wouldn't lie and say that the panic attacks were the only reason he resorted to blades. His self-esteem had been low from the start, and he had secretly, even to himself, cut as a means to let out steam and pretend that he was good enough. He never really admitted it to himself, not until recently, when someone said something especially hateful and his fingers itched for the blade.

He wouldn't admit that earlier, when the bullying had been worse, he would go home and hurt himself without shedding a tear because it didn't get to him.  _It didn't._  And that recently, when he was left out for being human and fragile or weak…

It had taken this break from cutting to actually realize all of this. And, of course, he would never admit it to anyone else.

He still couldn't believe he'd let himself get caught, couldn't believe that Derek, of all the people in this fucking universe, would be the one to figure it out.

And he had ruined it all by kissing him. There would be no more friendship or helping each other out. Derek was probably completely freaked and never wanted to talk to him again.

Stiles looked up and saw that Derek was watching him. Hoping that his heartbeat wasn't out of whack, Stiles got up and excused himself from the kitchen. "My dad will come busting through those doors if he thinks he has to."

He walked out of the house and down the front porch and fished his keys out of his pocket as he approached his Jeep. "Stiles, wait."

Derek jumped off the porch and bounded towards him. Stiles turned around slowly and watched warily as Derek came to a stop in front of him.

"I…uh… it's okay." Derek said awkwardly.

Stiles paused, unsure of what Derek was trying to say.

"You… when—" He grunted in frustration. "Earlier, what happened. It's okay"

Oh.  _Oh, oh._  The pieces clicked together and Stiles gaped a little.

Just a bit.

"Look, I'm sorry." Stiles rushed. "I didn't mean to. I don't even know why I did. Your face was just kind of there and you were talking about zombies and books and you were really passionate and excited about it all. And like I said, your face was just kind of there and I don't know what I meant by it and I don't know what I want, I just—"

Derek kissed him again. Softly. "It's okay. Besides, I kissed you first, remember?"

Stiles started to shake his head, then remembered the night of his panic attack and how Derek had kissed him, gently on the lips.

"I thought I dreamed that part."

Derek shook his head.

"Well, it was just in the motherly-assuring-a-fucked-up-individual kind of way, right?"

Derek shook his head again.

Stiles gaped some more. "Uh… what does this mean for us?" He gestured between the two of them emphatically.

"I don't know." Derek said genuinely. "We'll figure it out together."

From inside the house, there was the sound of giggles and cheering. Although Stiles couldn't seem them, he just knew they were inside raising glasses and high-fiving to the sound of Stiles's embarrassment. Derek turned, his sweet look souring.

Stiles put a hand out and clutched his shoulder. "Don't. I'll think of something more vindictive and horrible than just yelling at them or giving them the death glare."

Derek looked at him with one eyebrow raised. Then he stopped and laughed.

Stiles's eyebrow twitched and he looked questioningly at Derek.

"I wish you could hear them right now. They actually sound kind of scared."

"What?"

"Scott said you mean business and they all got kind of quiet."

"Ha, that's right. You're all my bitches." Stiles laughed and got into his Jeep. He started up the engine and rolled down his window. "We'll continue talking some other time."

Derek nodded and watched him pull away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was pack night. School was finally over for the summer and the pack was getting together to just hang. When Stiles first got the text ( _Pack meeting. Tomorrow. Pack House. 6:00)_ he had flipped out, thinking there was some new threat out to get them. When Scott mentioned video games, pizza, and movies, Stiles had finally understood. There was no danger it was play-time.

That made Stiles slightly embarrassed that he hadn't understood earlier.

It also made him want to hit Derek in his perfect scruffy wolf face. Scaring him half to death with his spur of the moment wolf-pack get togethers. Not actually giving him all the details in order for him not to freak out. Making him mutter to himself. Grumble grumble.

When Scott had laughed at him, Stiles looked him dead in the eye. "Watch it, wolf boy."

And so, the pack night had commenced with popcorn, soda, chips, and video games. Stiles killed Scott at Super Smash Bros and Erica taught Isaac how to play Zelda. After an hour, Jackson and Lydia went out. Most likely to makeout before they had to get the pizza. Scott and Derek moved the coffee table out of the middle of the room and everyone else got seated as Stiles started Batman Begins.

Scott had settled with Allison on the love seat. (Honestly, love seat? Worst name for furniture ever.) They were squeezed together so tight it was hard to tell whose clothes were whose.  _I guess they're back together then._

Erica was sprawled between Boyd and Isaac on one the floor. Neither of them complained when she shifted and put her head on Isaac's shoulder and her legs on Boyd's lap. They all just snuggled closer to each other.

Stiles was glad. That meant that they had finally gotten past the Erica-running-away-with-Boyd-temporarily drama. That was good.

Stiles was leaning into the arm of another sofa. He had commandeered two pillows and a blanket all for himself. Even though he wasn't cold, he just liked having blankets.

Derek was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room. Even though he was older, he didn't look at all out of place with the group of teenagers. He was just as interested in the movie as the rest of them. Although, Stiles liked to think that he kept seeing those luminous green eyes flicker over to him a few times.

Jackson and Lydia showed up halfway through the movie with plenty of pizza, and during the shuffle for food, Derek was relocated to the other side of Stiles's couch.  _Of course._  But he didn't complain and the food was passed around in companionable silence as they watched Christian Bale bamf his way across the screen.

Throughout the movie Stiles began to slump over. He wasn't comfortable leaning forward into the side of the couch anymore, but was too nervous to move, not knowing where Derek was and if touching him in any way shape or form would make him detonate.

Stiles was uncomfortable, but he much preferred being intact, thank you very much.

Somehow, Derek must have noticed his discomfort and maybe he smelled Stiles's nerves in the air, but he grabbed Stiles by the waist and pulled him to his chest. Stiles was between Derek's legs and leaning against his perfect sculpted torso and  _holy shit._

Scott was snickering quietly. Stiles looked around to see the smiles on everyone elses' faces as well, even though they kept up the pretense of watching the movie. But what kind of friend would he be if he didn't give Scott some grief for laughing at him?

"Shut up or I'll have Erica punch your jaw back into alignment." Stiles muttered quietly so only the wolves would have been able to hear him.

Erica actually snorted at that and Derek chuckled deep in his chest and Stiles could feel the vibrations run down to his toes because  _holy shit._

And they went back to watching the movie.

Okay, that was only half true.

Less than half.

It was kind of partly true.

Sort of.

Stiles was slightly paying attention to the movie and mostly paying attention to the rise and fall of Derek's chest and his breathing and his heartbeat and his laugh and the feeling of him whenever he moved.

Once he had started to relax into him, Stiles found that he was really warm and Stiles was slightly melted into him.

If that was humanly possible.

But, you know, werewolves.

So fuck logic.

Every time one of them shifted position, Stiles became really hyperaware of where his body was and who he was sitting with and what it implied.  _No, he wasn't going to get into labels and whatever._

Derek said they would figure it out as they went along. So that's what was going to happen. Yeah.

But the fact that they were going to figure it out meant that there was an it to figure out in the first place.

Derek's arm moved and fell over his shoulder, casually landing right above his heart. Stiles smiled lightly, half wondering where his arm had been before in order to avoid contact with him. Stiles's own hands were in his lap, but one of them was reaching up of its own accord and grabbing Derek's.

_Holy shit._

That is the goddamn phrase of the evening.

But Derek's fingers twined with his own and Derek said nothing about it. So Stiles cheered internally and went back to being way too aware of Derek.

 _Huh._ It's funny, because a few days ago, Stiles hadn't even known this was something he wanted. It wasn't until he pressed his face to Derek's in a moment of  _wait, what the fuck am I doing?_ that he realized what he may have wanted.

And it wasn't until he had gotten back to his house later that fateful day and pumped his fist into the air and made himself a celebratory batch of muffins that he really, really did want it.

Badly. With Derek.

As soon as possible.

Stiles attention was abruptly returned to the movie room when someone flicked on a lamp and Stiles's retinas were suddenly filled with light. He hissed slightly. "Ah, the light, it burns!"

Everyone shifted forward, including Stiles who had to stretch his legs and go to the bathroom. When he came back, the betas were arguing over what movie to watch next. Stiles's was preoccupied with the amount of empty pizza boxes that were in the next room.

"Jesus Christ, it looks like we attempted to feed a small army." He commented, in awe. "And failed."

"Come in here doofus." Erica called endearingly. "We're going to be watching Iron Man 2."

Stiles came into the living room to find Lydia on Jackson's lap in the armchair Derek had vacated earlier. Somehow, tons of blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows appeared in the middle of the room. Everyone else was in the basic same position. Derek had his arms held out expectantly, so Stiles flopped back down between his legs and snuggled up again. Derek wrapped his arms around him and leaned backwards.

Someone, presumably Lydia or Jackson as they were the closest to the lamp, hit the lights. Erica pointed the remote and pressed play. The movie played and Tony, with all his sass, ruled. As usual.

The group eventually began to doze off. One by one, they filed down onto the mess of bedding on the floor, pulling a few comfortable things to themselves, but generally staying in the same jumbled mess of sleep and comfort.

"Natasha is such a bad ass." Stiles commented sleepily as he watched the red head fight. They were the only ones still awake. Jackson and Lydia had left about twenty minutes ago, and everyone else had migrated down into the pit of sleep.

After dozing off for the third time, Stiles yawned and wiped at his face. Derek turned off the movie and the sudden quiet seemed to press on Stiles's ear drums. He was slightly nervous, now that there was nothing to distract Derek from him. Now he might actually have to say something.

He wasn't good at saying things.

No, that wasn't true. Stiles was very good at saying things, it was just mostly nonsense things that didn't make sense and went on far too long without breathing. He looked down at the Betas who were all in close proximity to one another, all touching in one way or another. They were linked like a big clock or a circuit. Even Allison was included via Scott.

"Why are they sleeping so close?" Stiles asked quietly.

"They're bonding. They're Pack, so they feel the need to be close to each other." Derek explained in a rumbling whisper.

"Oh." Stiles nodded. "So Allison is only included because of Scott?"

"Well… no. She was introduced to us because of Scott, but she's become Pack because of the interactions she's had with us. Sure, Scott is a linking factor, but if they broke up, again, she'd still be pack. And we'd still want her around."

"So is that just what happens with humans? You adopt them?"

Derek laughed silently. "Yeah, I guess. Humans are just as important as wolves are when it comes to a strong Pack. Pack isn't just wolf blood or bite or birth. It's family. That's essentially what Packs are. Big families for support and strength. We protect each other and we don't leave each other behind."

Stiles chuckled.

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"They're your Ohana." Stiles smiled cheesily. Derek just stared at him. "Don't even pretend that you don't understand that reference."

Derek rolled his eyes and gestured to the nest of sleeping people and blankets. "After you?"

It was Stiles's turn to roll his eyes but knelt down and found a comfortable spot by Isaac and Scott. As he settled in, Derek followed, laying next to him and pulling them together so he could hold Stiles.  _Holy shit._ Stiles thought sleepily and happily. Isaac's hand reached out and touched his ankle. Erica's barefoot pressed against Derek's back.

Stiles turned his neck to say goodnight, and Derek met him halfway in a soft kiss.

"Goodnight." Derek's voice came out as a purr.

Stiles shut his eyes. He just might be able to get used to this.


	3. Chapter 3

It was raining and Stiles was listening to Enya. He liked to do that when he had a hard time sleeping. He wasn't sad or angry or hyper, he was just so tired that he couldn't sleep.

Honestly, why does that happen?

It was dark and the rain tapped on his window and on the roof and in the background of Enya's soothing voice. Stiles closed his eyes as he lay on his back, keeping completely still. He was meditating.

Sort of.

He's heard of this thing called lucid dreaming and tried doing it, but he always fell asleep before sleep paralysis, so it had never worked. Now he just used it to fall asleep.

He'd stay motionless, doing nothing but breathing and blinking as he stared at the ceiling and listened to music. The music was probably just a little too loud, but he didn't want to move and turn it down, so he dealt with it.

After three songs had passed, his arm twitched and he gave up. He sighed and readjusted his position, simply hoping to get to sleep the normal way. Then there was a tap on his window that was too heavy for the rain, and he got up, half expecting it to be Scott, half expecting it to be a branch or a twig or a flying snail.

Okay, maybe not the last one.

But he looked up and it was Derek. Stiles started slightly, but opened the window and let him in nonetheless. There were little dark spots covering most of his clothes and water droplets sticking to his hair and eyelashes from the rain.  _He was beautiful._

"Enya?" He asked teasingly.

"It's relaxing." Stiles defended himself. "What are you doing here?" Stiles asked him softly, aware of his dad in his room down the hall.

"You can't sleep. Neither can I." Derek said simply, dropping a small bag on the floor. "I thought I'd stop by."

Stiles shifted, only slightly nervous. "Okay. What's with the bag?"

Derek gestured to his shirt. "It's raining, so I brought something to change into."

"Oh. Do you want to go change in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, alright. I'll be right back."

Stiles didn't bother to warn him about his dad, knowing that Derek would be able to smell him before he even got into the hallway. Stiles wasn't sure if he was supposed to wait here, or go back to sleep, so he moved to his bed and lay back down, choosing the happy middle.

He was laying on his back when Derek padded back into the room. He turned onto his side to watch Derek cross the room and kneel on the bed as well. It wasn't the first time Derek had stayed overnight, but it was the first time he had come when neither of them was freaking out. Stiles wasn't sure what to expect, but he found himself moving up subconsciously to kiss him.

Derek put his hands around Stiles's waist and pulled him a bit closer, so he was on his knees as well. Stiles found his arms crawling up Derek's arms and around his waist and Derek bent a little closer. The darker man's mouth yielded to his own and momentarily he panicked, but Derek was gentle as he kissed him. And then— _oh!_

_Tongue._

Right.

Derek ran his tongue along Stiles's upper lip and along his teeth. And Stiles shuddered at the tenderness and sweetness of it. He thought this kind of kissing was supposed to be hot and fast and passionate, but Derek was so gentle. The feeling made him ache in the best way, like the day after a really good practice. And as Stiles felt himself moving backwards, he noticed the way Derek was strong enough to maneuver him down onto his back smoothly and easily.

Stiles's feet were flat on the bed, creating a comfortable place for Derek's body. He settled between the teen's legs, using his hands to hold himself up from being too close. Stiles's tongue shyly met Derek and he felt a tightening in his stomach. It was so soft and beautiful that it almost hurt. Derek didn't have much occasion to be so tender. Even with the recent development between them, it was still surprising sometimes.

Derek shuddered when Stiles ran his hand down his back, tracing the area where he knew the triskele to be. His fingers found their way under Derek's shirt, and rested on the small of his back. He just wanted to feel Derek's skin in his hand. He had to take back a previous comment. This slow kissing was not without passion. In fact, it might be all the more passionate for the subtlety it possessed.

Derek pulled away after a minute and his face hovered over Stiles's, searching his eyes for something. Stiles was sure there might be some embarrassing emotion, but Derek smiled lightly, his eyes flashing in the dark. His red eyes didn't put Stiles off anymore. He found them endearing.

Derek turned and lay on his back and Stiles followed him. He laid half on his chest, using his elbows to lift himself so he could look at Derek. He lifted his hand to Derek's face and traced is fingers like he did so many weeks ago. His fingers followed the line of his brows and the border of his hair, the slope of his nose and the bow of his lips. He brushed over his eyelids that fluttered closed and twitched as they weren't used to being touched.

Stiles fell into a trance, unaware of how long he lay there, simply enjoying the sensory moment. As he listened, he could hear a dark roll of sound emanating from Derek's chest. He was breathing normally, but—

"Are you purring?" Stiles asked quietly.

"Shut up." But the corner's of Derek's mouth were slightly curled, and Stiles knew he was not bothered.

"Stiles."

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to go out on a date?"

Stiles movements ceased and he focused on Derek's eyes that were now open and boring into his. He smiled widely. "Yes."

Derek let out one of his famously beautiful, put-stars-to-shame grins that made Stiles's blood crash like the tide. Satisfied, Derek closed his eyes.

Stiles settled on his side, facing away from Derek, who immediately pulled him into an embrace, holding him against his broad chest. Stiles was suddenly tired again. He knew that he would have no trouble sleeping now. Just having Derek near him in this way was enough to have unconsciousness hovering just beyond his eyelids. He let the breathing/purring of Derek lull him into oblivion.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey dad, I need to tell you something." Stiles said, inching into the room where his father was looking through papers. Happily, there was no alcohol in sight.

"Is this about the diner not selling me curly fries anymore or the person who's been staying over some nights during the past seven weeks?" The Sheriff asked, not looking up from his desk.

Stiles gaped like a fish out of water, scrambling for words. His father looked up at him and chuckled. "The latter, I assume then."

"How did you even know?!" Stiles gasped incredulously.

"I am a law enforcement figure. I make a living solving crimes. You think I wouldn't notice the extra toothbrush in the bathroom or the sounds of the window opening or the whispers at night. I can put two and two together, Stiles. That's how I became Sheriff."

Stiles blushed slightly. He wasn't exactly sure what to say now. This scenario wasn't one he accounted for when he thought a script for how this was supposed to go.

"Look, Stiles. I trust you to be careful and safe, know who you're letting into the house, and tell me about it when you're comfortable." Sheriff said seriously.

"Okay… well, I don't know if your insane powers of deduction told you that the person is not a girl." The Sheriff only nodded at that. "What! How?"

"There have been floorboard creaks at night that your body is too light to create. You have never made a floorboard upstairs creak. I assumed it was a guy, probably muscular, because I thought that would be the most likely person to be able to pull himself through a two story window."

Stiles just stared at him and beheld his crazy awesomeness.

"Okay… It's Derek Hale."

His dad was quiet for a moment. "Well, I didn't expect that one." He admitted. "Don't you hate the guy?"

"…Hate is a strong word. There was a point in time that I really disliked him." Stiles admitted. "But I got to know him, and he's strangely sweet, actually. He comes off as really gruff, but… he cares about me, dad. And I care about him."

"Well, I care about your happiness, but I also care about the law. I don't want to catch or hear about you doing anything illegal. Other than that, it's none of my business." The Sheriff said, getting up and stretching.

"Okay, well I have a date with him tonight." Stiles told him.

"Where are you guys going?" The Sheriff asked, heading towards the door.

"I'm actually not sure. It's a surprise, I guess."

"Well, have fun. I don't think I'll be at the station tonight, but be back by 11:00, okay?"

"…Yeah. I'll be sure to do that." Stiles was taken aback at how easily his father was taking all of this information.

"You should invite him over for dinner sometime." The Sheriff commented as he walked out of the room and Stiles just stared at his retreating figure because  _what?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:37** _

_**So, I'll pick you up at 6:00?** _

Stiles looked at the time and nodded.

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:37_

_Uh, yeah. Do I need to where something specific?_

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:38** _

_**Yes. You'll need a tuxedo, a fireman's hat, and a scuba suit.** _

Stiles blinked at the screen.

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:38** _

_**Oh, and bring some tears of orphans as well.** _

Stiles blinked some more. He wasn't exactly sure how to respond, even though he was mostly sure that Derek wasn't serious.

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:40** _

_**I'm kidding.** _

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:40_

_I know that!_

Stiles defended himself, aggressively tapping the little buttons on his phone.

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:41_

_How would you use the tears of orphans, anyway?_

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:42** _

_**It's a good way to salt food.** _

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:42_

_Those poor orphans. I'm going to have to put them on the list of things to save from scary/creepy ass werewolves._

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:44** _

_**Peter is the creepy one.** _

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:45_

_Yeah, you're the broody one._

_To Derek:_

_Sent: 5:46_

_You still haven't told me what I should wear._

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:47** _

_**No, you don't have to wear anything specific.** _

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:49_

_Good, my scuba suit is at the dry cleaner's._

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 5:51** _

_**Why would you send something made to go underwater to the dry cleaners?** _

Stiles snorted as he changed his shirt to a slightly nicer one.

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 5:52_

_Don't poke holes in my logic._

Stiles waited for a while, but he didn't respond. Stiles just assumed it's because he was driving. Good, he wouldn't encourage bad behavior. But now he was getting nervous. I mean, this was an actual date. Like, a for real date, not just a pack hang out or a panic attack session.

Speaking of, he was freaking out minorly. He sat on the edge of his bed and bit his nails. Then he realized that Derek would hear his accelerated heart rate and might get worried, so he started some new breathing techniques, laying back on his bed. He tapped his foot as he sang a song in his head and counted breaths.

He congratulated himself when he slowed his pulse back to normal. When he heard a car engine coming down the street, it jumped, but he maintained his cool.

Stiles stumbled down the stairs, quickly checking his pockets to make sure he had his keys, wallet, and cell phone. It buzzed as his fingers made contact.

_**From: Allison** _

_**Received: 5:55** _

_**Good luck!** _

_**From: Erica** _

_**Received 5:56** _

_**Have fun tonight! (Isaac says hi)** _

_**From: Boyd** _

_**Received 5:57** _

_**Good luck.** _

_**From: Lydia** _

_**Received: 5:57** _

_**Be fierce.** _

_**From: Scott** _

_**Received: 5:58** _

_**Don't worry, you'll be fine.** _

Stiles smiled as he read their messages and tucked his phone in his pocket. He mentally prepared himself as there was a knock on the door. He checked himself over in the mirror by the farm bureau and walked semi-confidently to where he knew Derek stood waiting.

He opened the door and grinned as he saw Derek standing there in all his leathery, stubbly, chiseled glory. Derek smiled back at him and held out his hand. Stiles twined their fingers together and they walked out to the Camaro that Stiles was so fond of. I mean, his Jeep was his baby, but the Camaro was a fine piece of machinery.

They settled into their seats and Derek started the car, pulling away from the sidewalk. Stiles thought it was funny that Derek's car purred almost the same way he did. _Okay, you could seriously tell he was nervous._

Then Derek reached over and grabbed his hand. "Calm down, you're going to have a heart attack in my car and I'm going to be arrested again."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"There's a little coffee shop called the Treehouse. They've got open mic on Thursdays." Derek told him.

Stiles nodded his head, almost surprised. He didn't know what he expected, but a coffee shop and live music wasn't it.

They pulled up beside a small building at the corner of a block downtown and walked inside, hand in hand. There was a small band with a guitarist, a percussionist, and a singer at a keyboard on a little platform near the front. Derek led him to the back where there was a long counter with a cash register and a tip jar that read "Thanks a latte!"

Stiles laughed. The place was adorable. It was quaint. The good music and smell off coffee circulated around the many chairs, sofas, beanbags, and tables that were everywhere. The lights were dimmed just enough that it really added to the atmosphere but everyone could still see. All in all, Stiles felt he could get used to this place.

"What do you want?" Derek asked Stiles, averting his attention to the menu.

Stiles scanned it quickly, "I think I'll have chicken salad. And water."

Derek gave the order to the cashier and ordered coffee and a BLT for himself. Then he grabbed their number and steered him to a table that was relatively close to the "stage." They sat down and Derek grabbed his hand again. They sat and listened to the music while they waited.

"They're really good." Stiles commented.

"Yeah, I've seen them here before. They're called Entity. Their lead singer, Bobbi, is originally from Holland and the band met when they took philosophy class at the same University."

Stiles nodded. He really liked her voice.

A woman with red hair and a really intricate tattoo sleeve walked up to them with a tray and handed them their food. She smiled warmly at them before heading back. Stiles took a bite of his sandwich and smiled happily.

"I could definitely get used to this."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Derek brought Stiles back home after a few hours of listening to the other artists who had come to play at Open Mic night. They held hands up until the porch where Stiles kissed him good night. Several times. Lingeringly.

"I won't be staying the night this time." Derek said, resting his forehead against Stiles's. "I need to spend some more time with the pack. We need to do some training, and they all feel a little better when we're close to one another."

"That's fine. I understand you have dad responsibilities." Stiles smiled. "Tonight was great. I would not object to going back there."

"Good." Derek leaned on to kiss him again. "Because I want to take you back. It's one of my favorite places."

"Oh, by the way. My dad knows you've been staying the night lately and he wants you to come to dinner some time."

Derek tensed for a moment and then relaxed. "Okay, I can do that." He said, almost nervously.

"You'll be great." Stiles kissed him again and then backed up to the door. Smiling and watching Derek walk back to his car. He waved once before shutting the door and walking back upstairs in an almost daze because he had just had an actual  _normal_ date with  _Derek motherfucking Hale._

And if he sent out a mass text moments after he got to his room, no one would have to know. Except the recipients.

_To: Scott, Allison, Isaac, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Dad_

_Sent: 9:53_

_It went really, really well._


	4. Chapter 4

"So when are you inviting Derek over to dinner?"

Stiles flailed in surprise, accidentally overturning his desk chair and landing on his stomach, pinned under the rolling black deathtrap called office furniture. He looked up, chin resting on the hardwood floor, to see his dad standing in his doorway.

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored his son's reaction, waiting for his response.

"Uhm," Stiles attempted. It was difficult to speak around the floor currently pressing against his jaw. He flipped around, getting out from under the chair most of the way. "When are you free…?"

The Sheriff sighed. "My schedule's been lax lately. I'm thinking Sunday will be fine."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I'll check. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Honestly, neither he nor Derek had much going on. They took care of the pack and each other, but the battle ground had been quiet recently. No monsters or other things trying to kill them as of right now. It was mostly hanging out and some training and anger control.

"Yeah. I'll talk to him." Stiles reassured his dad, who was still standing there.

He nodded and looked down at his son. "I'm looking forward to it."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his dad's retreating back. He didn't like the way that sounded. Not at all. He was up to something, Stiles could feel it. He had super sharp spidey senses when it came to this kind of thing.

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 2:37_

_What are you doing this Sunday?_

He righted his chair and sat down at his desk again, resuming his summer reading work. Stupid journal entries making him actually organize his thoughts. He usually didn't have an issue with writing essays, thank you very much, but this journal format was really annoying. He didn't really have much of an opinion on the book, other than the fact that it was okay and he didn't really find it spectacular. How do you write a deep journal entry when that was your emotional response?

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 2:51** _

_**Don't have anything planned. You have an idea?** _

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 2:52_

_Yeah, but you might not like it._

Was it just him, or did it take him longer to reply than normal?

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 2:53** _

…

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 2:53** _

_**What did you do?** _

Stiles rolled his eyes at the screen.

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 2:54_

_I didn't do anything._

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 2:54_

_Except commit you to having dinner with my dad and me sometime. Eventually._

_To: Derek_

_Sent: 2:55_

_If you're available. It's just better to rip off the band-aid._

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 3:00** _

_**Yeah, I guess you're right.** _

Stiles made an obscene victory gesture with his fist.

_**From: Derek** _

_**Received: 3:01** _

_**What time?** _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stiles had decided on a Stilinski family favorite for the Stilinski-Hale pow-wow dinner. Steak and potatoes. He was adding veggies to the menu because, you know, health and stuff. So he went to the grocery store and picked up lettuce and tomatoes and carrots and green beans and all the other supplies.

He was worked up to the point that he was tapping his hands against his leg incessantly. He probably bugged the total flaming crap out of the cashier, judging by the fake smile she gave him. But he took his bags and smiled back anyway.

Haters gonna hate, right?

Ugh, did he seriously just think that?

At home, he checked the clock and internally panicked when he realized he had less than an hour. How long does it take to cook steak?  _He really needs to learn to plan these things out._

He ran upstairs and picked up his laptop, clattering down the stairs with it under his arm. Only twenty-five minutes. That's good. He pulled the steak rub down from the pantry and prepared the steak and let it sit, not completely sure how long to leave it.

He cut up the potatoes while he waited, chopping them into more manageable pieces. He checked the time again and turned the oven on to 300 degrees. He slapped the steaks into a pan and snatched a large silver pot from a cabinet. As it filled with water, the timer for the oven went off. He left the pan, pushing the meat into the oven and setting the timer for twenty minutes and going back to the sink.

Where water was sloshing over the edges of the pot.

_Shit._

He turned off the faucet and poured off the excess liquid. He put the pot on the front burner and turned it on high, salting the water a little. He made for the potatoes, but being the idiot he is, he failed to notice the water on the ground and slipped. Heart pounding, he knew probably looked like the most idiotic excuse for a person. As he grabbed for the edge of the counter, he ended up getting a grip on the knife instead.

He pulled back like he was burned, sliding to the floor and just giving up. The knife had fallen beside him. He cradled his cut hand to his chest and clenched his fist to put pressure on it.

Derek was going to laugh at him.

_Derek._

_Shit._

Derek was probably going to jump to the wrong conclusion and think he had gone back to his old ways. He was going to be mad at him. He was—

Stiles felt like he was going to barf. He felt his pulse accelerate and his eyes darted around the room, trying to find a way to get the knife away from him. He ended up grabbing the offending tool and hurtling it across the room. Probably not the best idea.

It didn't stop his anxiety.

This was bad.

This was very, _very bad._

He was suddenly wishing to have that knife back. Just as he stood up to get it, his muscles seized. His legs buckled and he fell back against the counter. He blinked rapidly and started to hyperventilate.

_Fuck._

Of course, as was customary, now is when Derek decided to make an entrance.

"Stiles, hey, it's okay. Deep breaths." He walked over to Stiles and gently pushed his head between his legs. "It's okay, whatever happened, it's over now."

Stiles counted his breaths, slowing them the way Derek and he had figured out. It worked really well, now that he'd been doing it for a while.

As his heartbeat returned to normal, Derek inhaled and picked up Stiles's bleeding hand. "You are honestly the most clumsy person I know." He said an exasperated affection in his voice.

Stiles let out a laugh at that, mostly relieved that Derek could put two and two together. It was a bit high pitched and breathless. "It's a gift. God, you're going to think I can't even make dinner without falling apart." He looked up at Derek, lurching to his feet unsteadily. "Hey, wait! You're not supposed to be here! I'm supposed to be making dinner and you're supposed to be surprised at how awesome I am." He said, disgruntled.

"I already know how awesome you are." Derek said, leaning in and placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "So, would you like some help or not?"

"Fine." Stiles turned quickly, plopping the potatoes in the now boiling water. "Uh, actually, there's nothing to do right now. We need to wait for the potatoes to soften and the salad will wilt if we make it too early. And green beans only take, like, five minutes to make."

"I guess we'll have to do something else while we wait." Derek said, smoothly picking Stiles up by the waist and setting him on the counter. He moved between Stiles's legs and held himself a few inches from the teenager's chest.

"Or, yeah—we can do this."

Derek chuckled darkly, leaning in to skim his nose along Stiles's jaw and nibble at his ear.

Stiles grunted. "We can definitely do this."

He tilted his head to give Derek more room. The older man took it, trailing kisses along Stiles's neck and down to his collarbone. Derek's fingers pushed the collar of his shirt out of the way so he could suckle on the skin below it. Stiles let out a breathy moan as he felt the gentle nip of teeth along his pale flesh.

Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek's hair with one hand and gripped a large bicep with the other. He felt an ache in his stomach and he moved his hand down to Derek's waist and pulled him forward so his large body was bowed against Stiles's. They both groaned openly at the contact. Now he could feel that Derek was every bit as interested in this as he was.

Derek cupped Stiles's face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss. Stiles got a grip on the back of his neck and reciprocated. Bravely, or so he thought, Stiles ran his tongue along the seam of Derek's lips. He was gratified when Derek captured his tongue and sucked on it gently. Stiles yelped quietly, but persevered. He took control of the kiss, caressing Derek's tongue with his own, tickling the place right behind his teeth.

Meanwhile, his hands found their way under Derek's shirt. He ran his fingers along the taut stomach, feeling his muscles clench under his hands. His hand settled flat along the small of his back. One of Derek's hands drifted down as well, latching onto Stiles's hip and dragging him forward to squash any space that might have been left between them.

Stiles wrenched his mouth away from Derek's, sucking in breaths between nips to his jaw. He traveled the expanse of Derek's throat as if it was a personal mission. He loved the feeling of stubble against his lips and tongue. His teeth scraped along the column of his neck, traveling north to his mouth.

All the while Derek's hand was guiding Stiles's hip in a rolling motion against him.  _This is great, this is so—_

"Stiles?" The Sheriff's voice rang out from the front room.

Derek and Stiles froze, looking at each other with matching faces of complete and utter horror. Derek's expression could be interpreted as  _fuck, what do we do?_ Stiles flailed in his general direction before clearing his throat.

"Uh, yeah dad, we're in the kitchen!"

" _We?_ " Derek hissed at him, putting several feet of space between them and turning around, probably to adjust himself. Stiles looked down at his pants and did the same.

"We?" The Sheriff called.

Stiles would have laughed at that if he didn't feel like his heart was going to beat right the fuck out of his chest. He jumped off the counter and went to check on the potatoes, trying to dispel all sex-related thoughts from his brain.

"Yeah, Derek is helping me cook." He yelled back. He turned to Derek, "Check on the steak will you?"

Stiles glanced at the timer as he walked to the fridge and pulled the veggies out of the crisper. He rinsed them in the sink and laid them on a paper towel to drain. He snagged the can of green beans from the counter and opened them, getting a pan while he waited for the can opener to work its magic.

"Where's the knife?" Stiles whirled around to find Derek standing in front of the cutting board and vegetables.

Stiles may have shuffled his feet abashedly as he pointed to where he had hurled the tool across the room. Derek walked over and picked it up.

"Why is it over here?" He asked, bewildered.

"I may have thrown it."

"May have? Well, you may have dented it beyond repair."

"Oh—motherfucker, are you serious?"

"It's fine, I'll take care of it." Derek said.

"Are you gonna use your wolfy powers to bend it back?" Stiles asked eagerly.

Derek rolled his eyes. "No, anything I do will just bend it more. I was going to use my money powers to buy you a new one."

"Aw, you're so good to me." Stiles crooned, kissing him soundly on the mouth. "There's another one in that drawer."

Stiles dumped the green beans in a pot and watched Derek chopping vegetables out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"What are you smirking at?" Derek almost growled at him.

"Oh nothing." Stiles said. "But, would you mind putting this on for me?" He held out a cooking apron with a pleading smile.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Aw, Derek, come on." Stiles moved towards Derek with the apron clenched in his fist.

"No." Derek eyed him warily as Stiles moved closer.  _Maybe poking him will help._

This turned into a small tickling battle, which morphed into Derek kissing him in order to make him stop.

"Am I going to have to knock before I enter a room?" The Sheriff asked.

The two broke away quickly, Derek looking sheepish and Stiles looking mildly annoying.

"I'm going to have to get you a bell." Stiles muttered. Derek's mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh.

"Derek." The Sheriff held out his hand. Derek almost flinched, looking at him warily. But the man only smiled. "It's nice seeing you outside of a crime scene, when I'm not here to arrest you."

Derek chuckled nervously as he shook the Sheriff's hand.

"Dad, shoo. I'm making food; you're not supposed to be in here. You're supposed to go relax while I make awesomeness."

His dad rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll go start on some paper work."

"Have fun. And hang up your gun belt." He added. "And no drinking!"

Stiles put the pan of green beans on a burner and turned it on, taking the potatoes off the stove and pouring them into a colander. "Would you grab that bowl for me?"

Stiles and Derek finished making dinner with no further incidents, and sadly less kissing. But he liked the way they worked together. They worked well as a unit, aware of each others' presence and needs and lending a hand here and there. Derek made up the salad while Stiles whipped up a quick dressing. Derek got checked on the meat while Stiles made fancy little olive bunnies. Derek got drinks while Stiles set the table.

"Dinner's ready!" Stiles called as he placed the last dish on the table.

"Smells good, son."

Stiles grinned, no longer worried about dinner.  _What was there to be worried about?_  He looked over at Derek, who probably didn't share this mentality. The guy looked like he was gonna puke.

" _Don't worry,_ " He whispered under his breath. " _My dad isn't that much of a hard ass._ "

Derek looked at him, nodded briefly and sat down after the Sheriff had.

Stiles passed the salad bowl to his father after dishing some up from himself. He surreptitiously watched his father to make sure he had a good helping, while sending the other dishes around as well. He always liked to serve others before himself when it came to actual sit down dinners.

"So, Derek," The Sheriff started after taking a bite of steak. "What do you do for a living?"

Derek tensed slightly. "I'm actually out of work right now. I'm looking into a few things, mostly construction, since I have experience with my own place, but I haven't found many places that are hiring."

"Hm, that's too bad." The Sheriff mused. "Do you know anything about cars?"

Derek nodded.

"The local auto shop is looking for a new mechanic. Seeing as their last one was killed by a descending car, not many people are scrambling to apply." The older man took a casual bite of potatoes.

Stiles smirked at his plate, "Funny how that happens."

The Sheriff shot him a look. "Anyway, I could put in a good word for you. I doubt you'd need it, seeing as they really need help around the shop."

"Thank you, sir."

Stiles was slightly uncomfortable with the small talk. He had never excelled at small talk and didn't like partaking or listening to it. But they got through dinner with no particular disasters, so mission accomplished.

"Do you two have plans for fourth of July?" The Sheriff inquired, pushing his chair back and picking up his plate.

"Uh," Stiles looked at Derek. "I hadn't planned anything."

"You might as well, I'll be working most of the day. Do you know how many idiots buy firecrackers and set something on fire?" He sighed dramatically. "A lot."

Stiles and Derek picked up their own dishes. "Here, sir, I'll take it." Derek held out his hand to take the plate from the Sheriff.

Stiles's dad looked at him with surprise, but surrendered his plate. "Thanks."

He started to leave, but turned around. "This was nice, Derek. But relax. I'm not going to shoot you." He assured him. "I left my gun in the hallway."

Derek stared a little as the Sheriff left. Stiles attempted to hold back a laugh, but he just ended up snorting. Derek threw a napkin at his face.

Somehow Stiles ended up watching Derek doing dishes. It was nice to watch him be all domestic and whatever. And, if Stiles liked to stare when Derek spilled water down his front which made his black Henley plaster itself to his stomach, then no one had to know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the hiatus, but I am unreliable and horrible. In this chapter, there's going to be the performance of a song called I Know I'm The Wolf by Young Heretics, if you want to listen to it for atmospheric reasons.

Derek and Stiles went to the Treehouse so often, they befriended the red-head who had served them on their first date. Her name was Sienna, she was studying philosophy and literature at the local college, and she and her girlfriend Emma were opening a tattoo parlor together in the fall.

She was almost always there because she picked up so many shifts. Stiles admired that she worked so often for what she wanted. Stiles always made sure they left a generous tip because Sienna and Emma were living paycheck to paycheck as they paid off the loans and such for their new business.

During one of their many three-way conversations, Sienna discovered that Stiles could sing. He still wasn't completely sure how that had come up. She bothered him every day she saw him since then to perform during one of their Open Mic nights. He agreed, relatively confident that there wouldn't be room, seeing as the Mic queue was normally packed tighter than a can of sardines.

Using whatever black magic she possessed, Sienna managed to find an opening, which is why Stiles was currently freaking out as they walked up to the obscure coffee shop. Derek was beside him and had a smirk plastered on his stupidly attractive face.

"Oh no! Gravity is increasing on me." Stiles cried, pitching himself forward under the pretty safe assumption that Derek wouldn't actually let him fall on his face.

"No, it isn't." He was safely back on his feet, but as Derek started walking again, Stiles sagged against him dramatically.

"Yes it is, Derek. The same thing happened yesterday." Stiles blinked owlishly up at the sky, body limp in Derek's arms. His perfect jaw line and eyes crowded Stiles's vision, blocking his view of the stars.

"You watch Lilo and Stitch too often." Derek laughed.

"It is the best disney movie. It has cross-dressing, cuteness, and aliens. What more could you want from an animated movie for kids?"

Derek pushed Stiles upright and forward so he was forced to either use his legs or faceplant.

"I've suddenly come down with laryngitis and can't perform tonight?" He tried, weakly.

"Yeah, no. It's not going to work." Derek laughed. "Even if I wanted to let you out of it, Sienna would never forgive me. She'd probably coerce us into dressing in drag and doing the hula."

Stiles was bolstered by the idea of Derek watching the Lion King as he warily pushed open the door to the shop.

Sienna was waiting for them in the back, avoiding her manager in order to talk to them. "Do you have your song ready?" She asked.

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, and there's a pianist, right? I'm gonna feel like an idiot if I stand up there alone with no accompaniment."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it all worked out. You just need to go up there and do your thing." She assured him. She waved over a small mousy girl who carried some sheet music and a shy smile. She introduced herself as Melanie. Derek kissed him before the two girls swept him away.

"And there's no way to get out of this?"

"Nope." She said as she ushered him to the wide window and the platform in front of it.

"You remind me of another certain conniving vixen. She's strawberry blonde though." Stiles told her as he eyed the man who was currently on stage, crooning into the microphone as he strummed an acoustic.

"Hm, she sounds hot."

"Don't let Emma hear you say that." Stiles grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes as the guy stepped off the make-shift stage and rejoined the crowd. Stiles gathered up his courage and stepped up, attempting to keep the flailing to a minimum as the pianist followed suit. He walked up to the microphone and blinked at the crowd a few times before clearing his throat.

"Hi, I'm Stiles and I was coerced into doing this by the lovely Sienna who is evil." He raised a hand to acknowledge her and she laughed. So did a few people in the crowd. "I'd like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, Derek.

And yes, I realize the irony of my selection."

It wasn't something he expected the audience at large to understand, more of a joke he had with himself when he chose the song. Derek would get it soon too.

He nodded to Melanie who began to play the beginning with deliberate slowness. Stiles counted off before he started to sing.

_Dear rabbit my legs are getting weak chasing you._

_The snow fields wouldn't seem so big if you knew_

_That this blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry_

_And I've captured you once, but I wasn't quite right_

_So I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me._

Stiles's haunting voice fell over the coffee shop like a spell. He didn't know it, but he was enchanting as he stood up there, one hand on the mike stand, the other barely grazing the microphone itself.

_Yes, I know I'm a wolf and I've been known to bite,_

_But the rest of my pack I have left them behind._

_And my teeth may be sharp and I've been raised to kill,_

_But the thought of fresh meat it is making me ill._

_So I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me._

As the song climaxed, he raised his hands and ran them over his head, as if in desperation. There was a break in the music and he stopped for dramatic effect, looking into the audience with a look bolder than he felt. He saw red eyes flash in the back and he twitched his fingers so Melanie would carry on.

_So rabbit please stop looking the other way._

_It's cold out there so why not stay here_

_Under my tail._

His quiet voice trailed off and the audience seemed to come out of a daze. They applauded at a volume that shocked Stiles. They actually liked it… There were even a few catcalls and wolf-whistles. Derek made his way to the front and after acknowledging Melanie and thanking her, he hopped down into the werewolf's embrace.

"That was great." Derek murmured against his collar bone. "And I enjoyed the irony of your choice."

Stiles laughed and pulled him to the door before Sienna could get to them. He waved at her through the window, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue when she smirked at him. Stiles turned and looked around conspicuously.

"What are you doing?" Derek eyed him.

Stiles looked at him through his lashes and tried not to smile. He pushed at Derek's broad arms, surprised when he yielded and allowed Stiles to man-handle him back to the wall of the Treehouse.

Out of the view of passersby, Stiles cupped Derek's neck and kissed him roughly. Derek made a small noise of surprise—how he could be surprised, Stiles didn't know. He practically announced his intentions with fanfare. Derek's hand snagged his waist and pulled him closer, and Stiles found himself very suddenly and painfully hard as he collided with the solidity that was Derek Hale's body.

Stiles's hips stuttered unsteadily when Derek's mouth rediscovered his jaw line and were those teeth? He—oh—yes, those were teeth. Those were definitely teeth running gently over the length of his neck. Derek snuffled along his pulse point and left wet trails that cooled in the night air and gave him goosebumps. As Derek started to suck a hickey, Stiles remembered that he was supposed to be taking control of this kiss. That's how it started, how did he end up like this—

That wasn't important. What was important was Stiles tangling his fingers in Derek's hair and yanking his head to the side so he could attack it with his mouth. The noise Derek made was  _filthy_ and his entire body arched forward into Stiles, who smirked and bit Derek lightly. Derek moaned brokenly and the noise went straight to Stiles's dick. He rolled his hips forward as he trailed a tongue down to taste the sweat beading on Derek's collarbone.

Stiles hooked his hands into Derek's waistband, with full intentions of pulling them off and blowing him then and there, but Derek gripped his wrists and pulled him off.

"Wha—" Stiles protested.

"Not in a fucking dark alley, Stiles. You're too classy for that." Derek said, eyes twinkling a little.

"No, I'm not." He argued.

"Yes, you are." Derek took his hand and walked with him back to the Jeep. "Besides, people always die in the dark alley in horror movies."

"Yeah,  _horror movies._  Not reality. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm dating a werewolf." Stiles climbed into the driver's seat. "It's freaky supernatural things like you that kill the people in the alley."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He pulled up to the mechanic and parked swiftly, trying to extricate himself gracefully. He ended up stumbling a bit and cursing a bit more. He looked around at the patriotic decorations with slight annoyance. He never seemed to appreciate the Fourth of July like everyone else. He liked the food and the fireworks, but that was about it.

"Hey, Der-Bear." Stiles called, knowing it would annoy him if his coworkers heard the nickname he reserved only for embarrassing situations.

"There's no one else here; there's no point in trying to embarrass me." Derek said, stepping from around a corner.

"Ookay, why is no one else here?" Stiles stuttered to a halt. He stared at Derek who was in a white tank smattered with car oil. The flimsy fabric clung to his body quite nicely and Stiles shamelessly checked him out. His hands, man,  _his hands._

Derek raised an amused eyebrow. "We're actually closed today. Everyone is out doing celebrating this pointless holiday."

Ah. "Speaking of this pointless holiday—thank you for the segway—what are you doing this evening?"

"I have no plans. And I don't really planning on doing anything a douchebag rightwing would, either." Derek said, wiping his hands on a stained rag.

Stiles was slightly taken aback. He was no big fan of the commercialization that had taken over a majority of holidays in modern society, like Valentine's day, really? And he didn't especially love the Fourth of July; honestly, it just reminded him of lighting sparklers in the back yard with his mom and her soft smile—Stiles pushed that thought away. In any case, he hadn't expected Derek to be so adamant about it.

"That's fine." Stiles said slowly, unsure of what to say.

There was a moment of silence and Derek looked at his feet. "I don't like fireworks." He allowed.

The pieces clicked. Fireworks.  _Fire_ works. Not to mention it was a day when families came together. Way to rub it in his face.

To mask the dawning comprehension, Stiles shrugged. "They have ceased to impress me anyways." He moved closer to Derek, "So how about an evening just the two of us?"

"What would you have in mind?" He reached out and grabbed Stiles's waist, pulling him closer.

"Uh, us alone was the extent of my thinking, to be honest." Stiles confessed.

"How about dinner and a movie? There are some good ones out right now." Derek suggested.

"I don't want to go out; how about dinner at your place?"

That's how they ended up at the Pack House, after cleaning up boxes of Thai food, crashed on the couch, neither quite bored enough to get up and put on a movie. So what happens when one is on a couch in close proximity to a Derek Hale in a darkened room?

Kissing. Duh.

Stiles pulled Derek over him like a blanket, seeking his warmth and his mouth. He could feel the smile against his lips when he gripped Derek's arms and moved with his body. Muscles bunched under his fingers as Derek held himself above Stiles, resting on his elbows so their bodies were crushed together but it wasn't painful.

Stiles was bunching his hand under Derek's shirt when he recoiled, head in hands. Stiles sat up, following him, confused. Derek was covering his ears, face scrunched in discomfort. Unable to hear anything but his own breath in his ears, Stiles calmed himself and strained his ears for what Derek was hearing. The faint popping of fireworks.

_Fireworks._

Damn them, interrupting his sexy time.

"This is another reason I don't like fireworks." Derek spit through gritted teeth.

"I can see that." Stiles said in an attempt to stay calm. Werewolf hearing probably made the explosions deafening. "Uh, what do you normally do…?" It's not like he could just turn them off.

"I usually go down into the cellar first."

"Okay." Stiles pulled Derek up off the couch and guided him downstairs. It was cool and dark, save for some moonlight streaming in from a few windows high on the walls. There was a bed and another couch and a TV. "And then?"

"Try to distract myself." Derek had already dropped his hands, but his face was still faintly stressed. And Stiles was getting an idea.

An awesome idea.

He pushed at Derek until he crashed down on the bed. Stiles followed him, crawling up his body to kiss him. His legs were on either side of Derek's body and he could feel that Derek was still kind of hard.

_Good._

Stiles's hands went back to caressing Derek's taut stomach under his shirt. Stiles pulled the fabric up and off, kissing his way down Derek's neck as soon as it was out of the way. Remembering the other night in an alley outside the Treehouse, Stiles bit the apex of Derek's neck and shoulder. He keened and arched off the bed.

Stiles nearly came in his pants.

Because loud, sex-noise Derek was almost too much.

_Almost._

Stiles grinned against his clavicle as he sucked hickeys into his neck and down his chest. He trailed his lips down to his ribs and left a bruise there and another above the line of his pants. Stiles ran his tongue along the defined V shape that ran into Derek's pants. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, biting down wherever his teeth could find purchase.

Derek moaned again, and Stiles looked up at him. Red eyes flashed in the dark, Derek's hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. His head dropped to the bed as Stiles ran his tongue under the hem of Derek's jeans. Stiles unbuttoned and unzipped his pants without him even noticing. It wasn't until he began dragging them down his legs did Derek look back down.

He looked like he was about to protest, but all that came out of his swollen mouth was a faint "hnng" noise. Stiles decided not to pay attention to that as he hauled Derek's boxer briefs out of the way. Then he just stared a little bit.

He wasn't quite sure what to do when faced—literally—with a dick. Especially  _Derek Hale's_  dick. He reached up and ran his hand along the shaft experimentally. Touching someone else's junk wasn't  _that_ much different than touching your own, right? His hand had stilled and Derek made a needy noise in the back of his throat.

So he let his imagination and extensive memory of porn take over.

He lapped at the head with the flat of his tongue, taking inventory of the way Derek's breath whooshed out of his mouth and he gasped for air. It was kind of bitter, but not unpleasant. Stiles mouthed along the shaft, scraping  _very_ gently with his teeth. We wrapped his tongue along the bottom suckling gently, hand cupping Derek's balls.

The precum dripped down to his mouth and he used his hand to spread the moisture. Stiles dragged his tongue up and over the head again. Derek wimpered— _whimpered!_ —as Stiles sucked the tip into his mouth. He slid his tongue around the top, and heard Derek's claws puncture the mattress. He laughed softly—careful of the dick in his mouth, of course—and slowly opened his mouth to take more in.

With one hand pumping, Stiles snaked his other hand into his pants. This was turning him on a little more than he cared to admit.  _Who gets off on this? Oh yeah, me._ He pushed himself a little when he felt his throat muscles clenching around the head. He had been blessed with no gag reflex, but he never realized the use he could put it to.

" _Oh god,_ how are you even _doing_ that?" Derek's voice was hoarse and barely coherent. His hand—claws free, thank you very much—came to cup the back of Stiles's head and tangle a bit in his hair. Derek stared in awe, but didn't force him down. Stiles was grateful for that, not completely sure how far he could go before choking and dying. He looked up at Derek, who groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

Stiles, who had found his limit, pulled back and began moving his head up and down slowly. His jaw was aching, but he tried to remember the elements of blowjobs. He wiggled his tongue and created a vacuum in his mouth, hoping that would be enough.

Apparently it was. Derek grunted a bit and his hands tightened fractionally in Stiles's hair. And Stiles moaned because apparently that was a  _yes!_ thing. He could tell Derek was straining to not thrust upwards, but honestly, he wouldn't have minded. He pulled his hand out of his pants and brought it up with his other, stroking firmly as Derek panted and made noises that drove Stiles  _out of his goddamned mind._

Derek tapped his throat—to give him warning, Stiles guessed—but he didn't pull off. He kept going at it until Derek came with a breathy groan. That was basically it for Stiles, whose brain short-circuited and body decided coming in your pants was totally okay.

Stiles licked his lips and joined Derek, who pulled him into a deep kiss that made him forget about the discomfort of semen in the pants. They sat there for a minute, breathing heavily, and in the distance Stiles heard the sporadic and chaotic popping of the fireworks finale.

"Dude, if that finale happened a few minutes ago, it would have been totally bizarre." Stiles commented.

Derek laughed loudly in the dark before pulling Stiles to his feet. "Let's get you some pants to change into."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Stiles was staring.

He knew exactly what he was going, but he couldn't help it.

Erica had a scarred bite mark on her shoulder.

And he was pretty sure he had never seen any of the wolves with scars like those.

Scars, for sure. But not ones as vivid as that or as new.

And Stiles knew that one was recent, because it hadn't been there three days ago.

After gaping for a few minutes he walked over to where she and Isaac were wrapped in each other, watching TV on the couch.

He stood there until they looked up, Erica sighing slightly and muting whatever they were watching. She acted annoyed, but he could see a small smile on her lips.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"What's with the bite mark?"

She smiled like she had a secret and looked at Isaac, who smirked back at her. Stiles was lost.

"What?"

"Isaac gave it to me." She said vaguely.

"Why would he—wait, why did it scar? Normal people scar. You wolfy people with your wolfy powers get out of that little inconvenience."

She looked at Isaac again, her expression changed. They were having a silent conversation. She quirked her lips and he raised his eyebrows. She frowned and he shrugged.

"Uh. well? I don't understand your silent supernatural speak."

"Derek hasn't told you… I'm not sure we should." Isaac was being serious, his face betrayed no joking or sarcasm. "It's kind of personal."

"Yeah," Erica said, still looking at him. "But he's going to need to know. It's going to be pertinent to their relationship. And I don't think Derek has the balls to tell him."

Stiles swallowed his snarky retort. "Still in the dark here."

Erica looked at him and sighed. "Isaac and I are a mated pair. Don't make that face, you asked." She rolled her eyes at him. "We're life mates, kind of like soul mates. It's pretty corny, actually. But being bitten by your life mate during sex is like werewolf marriage."

"It would have been nice to know before the fact, even though it wouldn't have changed anything." Isaac added, shrugging his shirt away from his arm to show Stiles his own scarred bite. "We didn't even notice when we did it, not until the next morning."

"Huh." Stiles looked between the two. He was burning with questions. Was Derek his life mate? Does it even work with a human in the equation? What happens if they aren't soul mates or whatever? Will Derek leave him? And what if they are? Would the biting still happen? Would that mean they'd be gay werewolf married? Would the bite turn him? He filed away his questions, pretty sure that he didn't want to have that conversation with Erica or Isaac.

"Huh." He said again and left the pack house and driving home so he could look some more of this stuff up. On the ride home, he decided he wouldn't ask Derek yet. He'd wait. They weren't even in that stage of their relationship yet. They'd only just got to third base a few days ago…

Yeah, he was going to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, the next chapter is going to be an emotional one. And you know it will be because it will be from Derek's perspective. Brace yourselves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Music for this chapter:
> 
> Olaf Arnalds | NPR MUSIC LIVE

That evening, Derek ran to Stiles's house in time to hear the Sheriff say goodbye to his son as he left for work. As always, Stiles told him to be careful, but this time he patted his dad on the shoulder as if he wanted to say more. Then he stumbled up the stairs and climbed onto the roof, catching a glimpse of the older man as he climbed into his cruiser.

Derek joined him and they both watched as the Sheriff pulled out of the driveway. Stiles seemed different today, pensive. Derek was unsure what had changed. He wondered why he seemed so down.

"I worry about him."

Derek wasn't sure where the conversation was going, so he said nothing. He looked down at his hands and waited for Stiles to continue.

"My dad is good at his job, and he's tough as shit, but there's always the chance that he won't come home." Stiles wasn't bitter. Derek couldn't quite place the emotion he was hearing. "And… I don't think I'd be able to deal with losing him. Not after my mom." He spoke the last bit as if speaking to loud would shatter the night sky.

His eyes snapped over to watch Stiles in the semi darkness. "What… what was it like?" He asked in a tentative whisper. He needed to understand how Stiles and his father had been capable of handling that kind of grief and still be reasonably happy.

He didn't want to push Stiles, even though he was curious. They sat in the dark for a few moments and Derek considered what it would have been like to watch your parent die in a situation so radically different from his own. What was it even like to prepare for the death of a loved one? How do you come to terms with someone's imminent death?

Stiles's head tilted in the direction of Derek's voice, but he knew Stiles probably couldn't seem him very well. "I—I don't really even know. When she got sick, really sick, I mean, I started to avoid her. I didn't want to see that she had lost her hair. I didn't want to face anything that wasn't—wasn't  _her._ " His voice broke a little at that.

"I was selfish. I was only thinking about how she looked wrong. And I couldn't really get over that." Derek nodded, more to himself than anything else. He had avoided visiting Peter for months after—well, he couldn't stand the burns marring his face. Couldn't understand why he wasn't healing. Couldn't deal with the fact that he was broken beyond werewolf abilities.

"By the time I realized she wasn't getting better, I had wasted over six months of time I could have been spending with her. Really being with her, not just kind of at breakfast and sometimes at dinner. I actually looked at her for the first time in weeks and I noticed that her nails and skin were yellowed; she was shivering even though she was wearing a heavy sweater and a wool cap in May.

"She had dark circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks. She looked nothing like my cheerful mother had looked months before. I remember how much it terrified me. The harsh breaths her lungs struggled to drag in and the amount of time it took for her to get up and walk anywhere. I was eight years old… I couldn't really handle it."

Derek was taken aback at the flow of information from Stiles. But it made sense. Neither of the Stilinskis seemed to ever talk about her. Ever. Maybe Stiles had needed to vent all this time. He needed to talk about it. Derek watched as Stiles wrung his hands, pulling at his fingers, obsessively cracking his knuckles and avoiding eye contact.

"It was just a few weeks after I turned nine that she lost the ability to walk altogether. We admitted her to the hospital and learned that her lung cancer had… spread," he sighed, "To her liver, her lymphs, and her brain. That's the thing about cancer. It just keeps taking. There's no boundary. If there's food and room, it will grow.

"I spent hours next to her in the hospital. We would tell stories and look at photo albums together. We would talk and talk until she was too tired and had to sleep. Even then I wouldn't leave. That's where I met Scott, you know. At the hospital. His mom was my favorite nurse and one time, when my mom was sleeping, she introduced me to her idiot son. We've been best friends ever since. He was the one thing that distracted me from the fact that my mom grew less coherent, less lucid every day."

Derek caught the glint of tears glossing Stiles's amber eyes. "I was there, you know."

"What?" Derek wasn't sure what they were talking about this time.

"When she died. My mom." He clarified. "I was at the hospital visiting. Dad was out working—car accident, some girl under a huge car pile up—so it was just me and her." His voice was remarkably steady.

"We were talking like it was any other day. Other than a few hallucinations, that day had been really good. We had been laughing and she went quiet. It wasn't unusual, for her to trail off mid thought or speech though, so I didn't think on it. And she turned to me with clarity in her eyes and she said one of the most coherent things I'd heard her say in days. She told me 'I wish I could do more.' And I was surprised. 'More? What more could you possibly do?' I asked her. She seemed to gather herself. 'More love. More stories. More hugs.'

"Then she turned her head to the corner of the room, voice slurring a bit again said 'John, I love you.' She was talking to thin air. She thought my dad was there, and she spoke like she was talking to both of us. 'You boys have to take care of each other. I love you both—so much. I'm the luckiest lady…' She didn't really finish her sentence."

Stiles impatiently wiped at the tears on his cheeks. "She turned back to the corner and lifted her hand as if she was touching his shoulder or his cheek and whispered something. I still don't know what she said; her speech was so garbled by then. She held my hands in one of hers, the other lifted as if to do the same with my dad. Eventually that hand fell back to the bed.

"There was a smile on her face the entire time, even when the machines started beeping and the nurses rushed in. Even when Melissa had to pull me away screaming and take me outside to calm me down." He smiled without mirth. "That must have been a picnic. My dad got there by the time it was over. I just remember sitting slumped in a waiting room chair, head in my hands, trying to pretend none of it happened."

The silence stretched out and it didn't seem like Stiles was going to break it. Strangely enough, Derek was uncomfortable in the silence. He wanted Stiles to talk so he wouldn't have to address his own feelings of grief and guilt. He didn't want to feel those things; not now.

"So that's when the panic attacks started." Derek said.

"Yeah. It wasn't bad for the first year. I mean—considering. I was devastated, heartbroken, unable to really function but it was the better part of those two years. On her—anniversary," Stiles swallowed thickly, "that's when it really went to shit."

"Why?"

"I started to forget what she was like. What her smile looked like and how her hair curled about her face. What her laugh sounded like, what she smelled like, if she told good bedtime stories… I could barely remember anything. And that was more terrifying than anything else." Stiles finally looked over directly into Derek's face. His eyes burned red as they looked at each other.

"And then the self-harm." It was spoken nearly too quiet for Stiles's human ability to hear clearly.

"It was an accident the first time. But the pain gave me peace, and I hadn't felt that way in so long." He spoke as if he needed Derek to understand; he was desperate for it. Derek nodded and grabbed his hand.

Stiles re-positioned them so they were both laying on their backs and his head was on Derek's shoulder.  _He was so trusting._  They twined their fingers and looked up at the stars, listening as Stiles's breathing deepened and evened out. Derek lay still, trying not to let his conversation knock loose the pain he had secured tightly in his mind. He had never really explained the entirety of Kate's involvement. He'd never told any of them why it was as much his fault as hers. He had let her in, in more ways than one.

The smoke of guilt roiled in his stomach. He remembered what it was like to come home to a disaster so great the smoke closed off the sky and made it seem like dusk. How he had charged, paying no attention to the yells of the fireman or the sound of sirens that rang like church bells. How he smashed into the invisible wall created by mountain ash that was rung in a tight circle. He had fought at it, dragged back by the men in fireproof suits.

In the scuffle, one of the men broke the circle and Derek fought doubly hard to get to his family. He heard their howls of pain loud as day. The fire had been raging for hours. No one in the house had been able to call for help, and there was no one living anywhere near them to notice. It wasn't until later in the day a hiker smelled the smoke and called in. But by then, it had been too late for them.

Save for Peter. A fireman found him pinned under part of a still smoldering wall. With the help of two others, they lifted the wall enough to pull Peter out and to safety. They rushed him into an ambulance, not waiting for Derek who had been doing his best to reign in his wolf as he screamed and cried for his family. He had run into or at the flames multiple times, fighting tooth and nail to try and save someone, but he knew it was too late. Their screams had long since gurgled to silence. He knocked more than one

By the time Laura had been notified, they had sedated Derek to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else. He was carted back to the hospital and cuffed to a hospital bed. When he woke, bleary eyed with a stress headache, he looked blearily at Laura who had faint tracks of teary mascara hastily wiped away. He blinked at the hospital room, disorientated by the metal at his wrists and the pain in his heart and body.

When it all rushed back to him, he tensed, a growl building in his chest. Laura's eyes flashed red at him and he fell into shocked silence. He whined softly, eyes flashing soft gold in submission.

" _How—"_  He hissed, but was interrupted as the Sheriff walked into the room.

There had been awkward conversation after he removed Derek's restraints, asking them general background questions that they had to lie about.  _Does your family have any enemies? —no._ Of course they did. Every fucking Argent had wanted to kill them. Except Kate. Or so he had thought.

Sheriff Stilinski had discharged them very quickly and allowed them to go in and see Peter. Laura, who had already done so, hung back in the corner of the room, unable to stomach the sight of him lying there, burnt so severely.

Derek had been worried that he would start healing and give them away, but the alternative had been worse. He had barely healed at all. Flesh burned and bubbled, hair singed, eyes blank, and body limp. Derek had looked down at his best friend, unable to do anything without drawing attention to his abilities. The nurses that rushed around him were polite, but Derek could tell they were impatient.

And then—

"Stiles?" Derek said softly, his teeth gritted as he steeled himself.

Stiles pulled himself out of sleep with a slight jerk. He looked over curiously. Stiles could probably pick up on his anxiety, even without werewolf senses. "Yeah?"

"I need to—you—you know I'm not good with words all the time, but I'm going to try." Stiles was quiet, so he took that as an invitation to take his time.

Derek inhaled deeply, bracing himself. "I helped kill my family."

He heard a sharp intake of breath by his shoulder, but barreled on. "Kate," he spit out the bad taste her name left in his mouth, "I was…dating her at the time of the fire." He muttered the last word. "She and I were together. Had been for a while, actually."

Derek made a face in the darkness. He didn't like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. "She and I met at a lacrosse game. She started talking to me when I went to get concession. I could hardly believe it. But I wasn't going to let the opportunity by; she was flirty and beautiful, and I was a hormonal sixteen year old.

"She convinced me that our relationship should be secret. No one would understand our connection because she was eleven years older than me. She told me it would get her in trouble."

Derek laughed bitterly. "So it was a secret. It was so exciting. We met in strange places around town. Never around either of our families. She took my virginity. I should have known it was too good to be true. She used me to get information. I didn't even realize it. She was so cunning and charismatic, I never realized I was being questioned. I never told her about our family secret, but I didn't have to."

Derek's voice cracked a bit at the end and he cleared his throat. "After the f— afterwards, when I was seeing Peter in the hospital, all burnt and vegetative, someone sent in flowers. Nordic blue monkshood. As soon as some nurse brought them in the room, Laura and I had trouble breathing. We nearly bit the nurse's head off when we told her we were deathly allergic. She ran out, leaving the card behind."

"Right below a red kiss mark, it said 'My condolences, Kate Argent.' I never told Laura what it really meant."

Derek went quiet, waiting for Stiles to get up and leave for good. Waiting for him to yell and scream and cry out in disgust, to tell him that he was a horrible person. But Stiles surprised him.

"That bitch."

"What?" Derek asked, incredulous.

"I wish she was still alive so I could kill her myself."

Derek was taken aback. "Stiles, you don't seem to get it. It's my fault she knew where my house was. It's my fault that she knew as much about my family as she did. Knew when the most people would be home so she could pick the best time. If I had never talked to her—"

"You're wrong." Stiles interrupted him.

Derek reeled. He sat up and looked back at Stiles, face illuminated by werewolf sight. "What do you mean? I am not wrong."

"Kate was, what? Twenty seven years old? She was a grown ass woman. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew how to manipulate you. She knew what to say. It's not your fault."

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Stiles cut him off. "No, I'm serious. The Argents, and other hunters like them, are smart. They know what they're doing. They know how to track and set traps and kill when they think they need to. Whether or not they choose to be morally correct depends on them. There's nothing you said that Evil Barbie would not have been able to figure out on her own."

"Stiles!" The words ripped out of him like they were wrenched from his very heart. "You don't understand. I told her where we lived.  _I gave her a key._  It doesn't matter that she could have figured it out on her own.I  _trusted her. I let her in._ " Stiles was silent as Derek threw his legs off the side of the roof and jumped down.

He didn't look back. Pain and hate churned inside of him and he could not bear to channel it into hate as he normally did. Half wolfed out, he ran away, far away from Stiles's house. He could hear, faintly over the sound of breath scraping through his clenched teeth and wind rushing in his ears, the sound of Stiles calling after him. And very softly, "I don't blame  _you_."

He ran mindlessly, heading for the woods, as he always did. He plunged head first into the tree line, crashing through brambles and limbs that snagged and burned his skin. The little nicks and cuts knitted closed before he had time to take his next breath. He hurtled through distractedly, barely avoiding collisions with trees. He heard, in the small part of his brain still paying attention, the silence of animals that feared him as he passed.

He had never told. Never told anyone. Never talked about it. Never spoken about why he was so inherently guilty about it all. Why it wasn't just Kate's fault. He had never explained why he hadn't started to move. Why he couldn't move on. Why the guilt the heaviest weight to bear.

In order to cope, he had convinced himself that he was not guilty. He was not. He was angry. He was filled with hatred. He was unspeakably wrathful. He pulled himself away from others, telling himself it was because he hated all humans. They weren't trustworthy. They were evil. They hated his kind. They would kill him and his family and all people like them if given the opportunity.

He never really admitted to himself that it was because he didn't deserve company. He didn't deserve anyone's kindness or love or respect. He brought death and destruction. No one could love him. No one would be safe around him. He had pulled away from Laura as well. Even as they moved to New York, he remained remote and quiet. Never spoke about what happened.

He shuffled about life, never breaking an unspoken vow of nearly complete silence.

_I don't blame you._

The words echoed in his mind.

No, he didn't understand. He didn't understand all of it.

_I don't blame you._

How could he not blame him? He had helped kill his family. He practically handed her the matches.

_No, you didn't._

His subconscious argued with him in a voice like Stiles.

Yes, I did. I told her about us.

_You didn't tell her your secret. She already knew. She would have known the minute you said your name._

No, no. He fought the idea. This was what had kept him sane this whole time. This was how he had gone about his life. The anger, he could do anger.

_This anger is keeping you from yourself. This is not who you are anymore. You don't need to be angry._

But if he let go of his anger, what did he have?

 _You have me, idiot._ The voice of Stiles whispered to him.  _You have and Scott and Erica and Isaac and Boyd and Allison and Lydia and Jackson and you have me. We're here for you._

Derek blinked and slowed down. All this time he had thought he'd been tied to an anchor drowning him in a sea of endless remorse. But that wasn't really the case. He wasn't tied to it. Not anymore. Somewhere along the line, he had turned around and held on to it. He kept clinging to the weight that was slowly killing him.

_And all you have to do is_ _**let go.** _

So he did.

And the world kept spinning.

He stopped moving and looked around at the forest. The world shimmered behind his eye lids and he felt himself shifting. His claws inched forward and his teeth grew pointed. His eyes flashed and he took a deep breath. The warm air filled his lungs and calmed his wolf, which was stretching and sniffing the air.

Hair sprouted from every pore, covering his body with warm fur. He felt his body stretching and crouching in all different places. His bones shifted position and his spine curved to accommodate his newly shaped skull. His clothes skewed and scrunched around in some areas and ripped around others.

Despite the chaos of his newly changing body, his mind had finally found calm. He accepted the remorse, but for the first time since the fire, he did not feel guilty. He felt tears prick his eyes, lifting a paw (seriously) to scrub at his snout.

He had always used anger and guilt to keep control during a shift, but it must have been that very thing that had kept him from making a full transformation. He had been subconsciously rejecting the wolf because he blamed it and his nature for the loss of his family. He could feel now the way he and the wolf were one. The way they breathed in the same pattern and blinked at the same time.

He clawed and bit at the clothes that restrained him. Although he stepped right out of his shoes, the rest proved more difficult. He ripped the shirt the best he could, rubbing against trees to remove the remaining tatters and his pants. He succeeded after a few minutes of embarrassed tail wagging and writhing on the ground.

_If Stiles could see me now._

Stiles.

He took off running again. It was different this time. He was faster, stronger, more adept. He was able to run without his body rejecting the exertion. He dodged trees and jumped roots with ease, clearing each obstacle with room to spare.

He ran directly for Stiles's house, streaking across roads and through backyards. When he finally reached the building, dark and quiet, he faced the problem of getting Stiles's attention so he could come inside. He didn't want to shift back right here, seeing as he wouldn't have any clothes on, and the Sheriff could be back any minute.

He could howl… but that might attract the attention of neighbors and bothersome pack members. He decided he'd go with the most civilized and knock on the door.

He padded up the steps, feeling kind of silly, seeing as he rarely needed to use the front door. He checked for any prying eyes, lifted up on hind legs, and fell against the door with a thud. There was no response. He repeated several times, letting out a whine of frustration, when finally the door was yanked open. He looked up at Stiles brandishing an aluminum bat.

"What the—" Confused, his arms slackened. "Derek?"

Derek nodded slowly.  _How did he know it was me?_

"Whoa! You're fully shifted! That's fucking awesome!" He looked happily down. "Uh, come in, I guess?"

Derek walked into the living room, claws clicking on the wooden floor. Stiles stopped, still watching him. "Do you need clothes?"

Derek cocked his head to the side.

"Well, you've only got one sock on and there's only about a third of shirt left on you." He shrugged as he headed up the stairs. "But we kind of already know I don't have much that will fit you."

Derek walked behind a couch and shifted back. It was simple, but not easy. Like flexing a muscle he didn't use that much. He had a hard time feeling which 'muscle' to move. When Stiles thundered back down, he was fully human again, waist down hidden behind the back of the couch.

Stiles tossed him the sweatpants and he caught it with one hand. With the other, he pulled the last shreds of his shirt off and tossed them to the floor. He distractedly steeped into the sweatpants which were, thankfully, big enough for him. "How did you know it was me?"

"I would recognize your 'Stiles, you idiot' look anywhere." Stiles quipped. "Besides, I don't know many wolves that know how to knock on doors."

"Many?" Derek questioned.

"Yeah, there's only one other, and she's on vacation at the moment. But that's not important." Derek walked around the couch. "How  _mmph_ —"

Derek cut him off with a kiss. He tried to put all his thankfulness and relief into the way he was holding Stiles. He pulled him in close, arms tight and lips soft. He nuzzled at his cheek for a few seconds before pressing their foreheads together.

" _Thank you._ " He said sincerely.

"Uh, no problem." Stiles responded, disoriented. "What did I do?"

"You're the reason I can shift now. I've never been able to do the full shift. Never."

"Really?" Stiles looked at his mouth distractedly. "Why is that?"

"Because my anger and hate kept me tied to my semi human form."

"But Peter could go Alpha, and he was still 'Grr, argh!' about everything."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Do you remember what his Alpha form looked like? It wasn't really like a wolf. It was like a demon wolfzoid creature from hell." Stiles snorted at the description. "Hey, we can't all be genius nick-namers like you. Anyway, his Alpha form was so nightmare-ish because he forced the change out of revenge, madness, and hate. It was as disfigured as his mind and heart."

"That's great that you learned about new wolfy powers and all," Stiles said. "But you shirtless is really distracting." He reached up and sealed their mouths together.


End file.
